I can no longer do anything
That can't be interrupted.
The stove must be turned off
Poems are left halfway
If I'm sitting, I stand
If I'm standing, I bounce
If I'm bouncing, I pace
I pick her up and grit my teeth
My arms know all the ways of holding her.
One hand under her and one hand across,
Making sure she doesn't scratch herself -
No comments:
Post a Comment